


Reign of Blue Blood

by MiniskirtAlert



Category: Original Work
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Extramarital Affairs, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Female Character of Color, Fluff, French Kissing, French Revolution, Frenemies, Historical Fantasy, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Player Characters, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniskirtAlert/pseuds/MiniskirtAlert
Summary: Chosen by the king, a young farmgirl learns that court life is a battlefield more deadly and sinful than she'd ever thought.Original work with original characters! Fantasy / mature/ LGBTQ / historical fiction. All characters, work, and writing by @MiniskirtAlert
Kudos: 1





	1. Help

Rough hands gripped the horse's reign and tugged, but the mare refused to move. After three more tugs, the girl had given up. The horse had jumped the fence, prompting her mother to send her out into the open field just over the mountain to get it back. This hadn't been the first time, and she doubted that it was going to be the last. With her patience long gone, the two pairs of brown eyes met in a stubborn stare. Letting go of the reign, Dominique Claude watched as her mare, Cheese, began to graze some more grass. The midsummer sun beat down on the two of them, but it only seemed to bother Dominique. Her forehead gleamed with sweat, her face twisted into an expression of fatigue, and her hair looked as though she hadn't bathed in a fortnight. She hardly felt glamorous.

"Come now, Cheese," She spoke softly, catching the attention of the blonde pelted horse, "Don't you want to stay with the herd? Why so lonesome?" With that, the horse suddenly seemed to want to leave. Relieved that it hadn't taken as long as the previous time, Dominique began to walk with the horse, not even bothering to take the reigns again. She knew Cheese wouldn't like that as they both knew the way back perfectly well. But then, as the pair had only just begun the journey back, both of them heard distressed neighing mingled with a painful yell. Someone was up here? Suddenly afraid, Dominique took Cheese's reign. Could it be one of the Castus?

Ashamed she would have been to admit it, but nothing ever happened over on this part of the kingdom, so the prospect of an incident-- even if it was a bad one-- made the young girl quite intrigued, despite also feeling afraid. And so, Dominique climbed on Cheeses' back and they rode over to where the noise had come from. Reaching the top of a hill, Cheese stopped as they both noticed what had happened at the bottom of it. A man dressed in fine clothes sat there, his back to them, as he cradled his leg. Standing a few yards away from him stood a black stallion, drinking from a small stream. The stallion wore a strange medallion on its breast collar-- a wolf that seemed to be wearing a hat. This couldn't have been one of the Castus, Dominique realized with not a small amount of relief. She jumped down from Cheese, patting her mare reassuringly before venturing slowly down the hill by herself.

"Monsieur? Pardon, monsieur, but are you alright?"

"Does it bloody look like I'm all right?" His voice was rough and sarcastic. He refused to look back at her.

Maybe this was a mistake. Dominique stopped in her tracks, ready to turn back and leave the man be, but as she noticed blood on the grass her instinct kicked in and before she knew it, Dominique was down the hill and taking off her headband. Walking close to the man, she held it out for him, wordless as she examined his face. Finally, he was looking back at her, and what she saw was a man about the age of her father, perhaps even a little bit older. His raven black hair held curls that she envied, as her own strawberry-blonde locks tumbled straight down her back as there was nothing to hold them up anymore.

"What's this for?" He gruffly asked, although his eyes held a softness she couldn't explain.

"You're bleeding, monsieur. Tie it above the cut."

He snatched it from her hand, grunting as he lifted his foot. The moment the leg moved he muffled a scream, his upper-body hunching over and away from his wounded leg.

Unable to see him bleed out for much longer, Dominique took back the headband, crouching down and gingerly touched his leg. At that, he shouted out a word she had never heard before. She looked at him curiously, and he seemed shocked at her lack of response. He spoke again, his wrinkled face flaring up.

"What do you think you're doing, girl?! Trying to kill me?"

"On the contrary, monsieur, I am only trying to help."

He blinked. "Help?" The man seemed to give up with a hefty sigh. He barely made any other sound until Dominique had finished. He had watched her with a curious gaze, but Dominique hadn't bothered to notice. Once done, she wiped the man's dark blood off of her hands onto the grass, and it was only then when he decided to speak again.

"What's your name, girl?"

"I'm called Dee, monsieur."

"Dee? How crude. Tell me your real name."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

The man seemed surprised, but not unpleasantly. Letting out what sounded like an amused breath, he tried to sit up but ended up only raising his head in a proud sort of way. "I'm called many things, girl, but you may call me Jacot."

Picking some dried blood off her thumb, Dee seemed surprised. "Jacot?" Glancing at his black stallion, she frowned. "I hope your horse is all right, monsieur Jacot."

Scoffing, Jacot seemed disappointed. "You waste your worry for a horse?"

Dee was shocked at his words but didn't dare protest against them. She looked back down at her own hands. They were rough from hard work back at the farm, but what she noted was how they were turning darker from the dried blood. Blood from a man who's worth she couldn't possibly comprehend. How many horses did he have, she wondered. If he didn't show care for his horse, then he must own countless. Could he buy one each month, or perhaps each week? All she could ever hope for was her mare, Cheese. The mare that ran away each time she had the chance-- a grand feat that even her owner envied. Jacot's stallion seemed strong, despite the tumble down the hill. He stood patiently by the stream, tending to his wounds on his own. 

"I can manage myself now," Jacot's words brought Dee out of her thoughts. He was attempting to stand up, and her arms instinctively reached out to help, but he lashed back quicker than a whip. "Go, girl. Leave an old man be."

Hesitant but feeling there was nothing more to be done, Dee picked herself up and began to walk back up the hill. Once she had taken a few steps, Dee couldn't help but look back. She saw this proud man struggling all on his own. She caught his glance as he seemed to have been watching her go, but his head turned away quickly, as he pretended not to have shown his face to her again. His stallion, too, looked at her, only it didn't look away like it's master. Horses were honest despite their pride. Both held too much of high regard for themselves to even dare ask for help. Seeing this, Dee's instinct took over once again.

"We breed horses."

"What...?" Jacot stopped struggling, letting out a hefty sigh as he obviously had no clue what she was on about.

"I-I mean only that my father can help your horse, monsieur." Hesitantly taking a few steps towards him again, she gestured a bloodied hand at the stallion. "He's hurt, monsieur Jacot, I can see he limps. And your wound needs cleaning, too." She was by then next to him, and at the sight of his face looking back up at hers yet again, her nerve faltered. His gaze was electric, almost as if he held back unimaginable energy. Energy that drained hers away.

"Please...?"

"Hah," He laughed coldly, although something about him softened a bit. "You squeak like a little chipmunk."

"I-Is that a yes?"

"You still haven't told me your name, girl."

"Is it a yes?" Dee pressed on, raising both brows in a way she hoped looked powerful, but he saw only girlish fervent. At long last he nodded. She kneeled down to his level, holding out a hand in greeting.

"My name is Dominique Claude, monsieur."

His own warm hand slipped into hers, and the man spoke once more. "I am Jacques."

"Jacques? But isn't that the name of our--"

"King?"

Innocently, Dee nodded. His eyes widened as he waited for a reaction-- for the realisation to hit her like a lightning bolt-- but it never came. She simply let his hand go and spoke of how short a distance they would have to go to reach her home. The hill would be the most difficult part, she told him in a matter-of-fact way. Meanwhile, he watched her anxiously. She never seemed to understand. It was at that moment that King Jacques knew he had found an innocent little nymphet.


	2. A Lass

Years passed as a blissfully unaware Dominique grew up. Fleetingly she wondered if it had been a dream. Dee's family never once spoke about the injured man she had brought back to their home three years prior. All she remembered was that he was left alone to rest in her parents quarters and she was to pick herbs for his medicine. Her memories seemed thin and brief, almost as if it was a memory she had constructed all on her own. After all, she could barely even remember his face anymore, much less his name. Be that as it may, her mind was elsewhere nowadays.

"Oi, lad, fine steed you got there. Buy it for a dozen crédits?"

Eyeing the man, Dee felt sceptical. She stood at the edge of town, toying with a bit of stray hay she had found on her boot. Her father was in the market, bartering, therefore leaving her to tend to their little stable all alone. "A dozen? He's worth a bit more than that, I'm afraid."

"How much more could a horse be worth?" He scoffed, crossing burly arms in an effort that certainly made him look tough. Hearing his accent she knew he wasn't a local, giving Dominique an idea. She gestured at the horse in question-- who's soot coloured pelt made her call him Coal-- before speaking again. Her voice was deeper than it came naturally, but that was for good reason.

"He's fast, monsieur. Never seen a faster steed before. Might even be able to beat the Castus."

She caught his eye only just managing to suppress a smirk as she took note of his expression. He was interested. She knew he would be, given his fate as a foreigner. No outsider wanted to be caught by the Castus-- it was a fate worse than anything she could imagine, not that she'd like to.

"Twenty, then."

Her father came back with a handful of new materials wrapped up in paper. He immediately noticed Coal's absence but when Dominique showed him the bundle of coins his worry soon turned to relief.

She elbowed him teasingly, "You always worry for nothing, papa. I've become a good barter, you know."

"Of course I know, Dee, but surely you haven't forgotten Cricket."

"Wah?!" As soon as he mentioned that name she fought back ardently, pleading her case about how it had been an accident and she had been misinformed. Her father laughed, simply handing her the materials to carry. Despite this, she continued talking. Dominique had inherited her mother's stature and ended up being a few heads shorter than her lanky father, but make no mistake, she was able to hold her own strength and followed her father around their small stable. "Oh papa, can you not learn to trust your own daughter?"

"Daughter?" An unfamiliar voice spoke, catching their attention. A young man stood in front of their stable, his hair uncommonly long and curly. He held a travellers bag and looked quite confused, but that was to be expected. His accent was strange, just like the other man. "You're a lass?"

Before being given the chance to reply, Dee's father intervened. He placed himself in front of his daughter, who quickly hid her face and pretended to be busy with something. She wore a simple wool hose and tunic, just like any other male peasant. Raised as a boy in the eyes of society, it made it so that Dee's father saved gold on needing servants. Dominique simply helped just like any other boy, but that was a secret they had to protect. Her slip-up could cost them their reputation. Silently cursing herself, Dee was too busy trying to hide that she didn't notice how the young man tried to catch another glimpse of her. Again, her father covered her.

"May I help you, boy?"

"Uh, yeah, guess so. Have you seen my father? He's about my height. Big arms." The man gestured a bit with his arms as he spoke, but stopped when Dee unexpectedly turned towards him, leaning to the side took look past her father. Their eyes met for a second before she looked away again, daring only to speak in a small voice, almost like a whisper.

"He bought Coal, our horse," She explained faintly, her cheeks ablaze. What was this feeling? Dee wondered if she was ill, or maybe it was due to her nerves. Yes, that had to be it. Nerves.

"Did he leave? Did he say he was going somewhere?" His voice was frantic and directed towards her, but there was nothing more to be said. She simply shook her head, suddenly very aware of her bun of hair hiding underneath her cap. What if she shook too much and it fell out, exposing her? This was risky.

By the end the young man left on his own, bleakly thanking them before doing so. Dee's father ended up scolding her quietly about her slip-up, but she didn't listen all that much. She had already scolded herself, anyway. It was only one sentence that really seemed to resonate with her.

"Honestly, Dee, what good would you do as a girl, anyway?"

On the way back home at the end of the market-day, Dee sat in the back of their open cart. Laying on a large bundle of hay, she absentmindedly watched the clouds pass high up above her. Dominique wondered what it would be like to fly. When you passed through the clouds, what did it feel like? She imagined them to be warm. Reaching both arms as high as she could, Dee's attempts at grabbing the impossible didn't work out for her. The impossible was too high up, too busy with it's own destiny. But what was her destiny? Was she to be a boy in their eyes forever? Was she to work for her family before having to build one for herself? Was family all there was? It was a dastardly thought to wonder if something else was possible; one that she swore never to discuss with another being. Would she ever be seen as a girl?

Country-life wasn't to be envied. It was no place to frolic and sing to one's heart content. If anything, you were far too busy to frolic. The Claude family worked from sun-up till sun-down every day, no matter the weather. It was a routine so common that none of them complained. What was there to complain about? No work meant no food; it was as simple as that. There wasn't very much to be envied except for perhaps the freedom. The freedom children get given is to be desired. Instead of confining corsets, they are given boots to run in. It was a standard scene to be seen on the Claude farm running around in one's sheepskin boots, and that is exactly what Dee's little sister, Yulia, was doing when their carriage rolled into their small courtyard.

Nestled and built right into a mountain, the family's home was both surprisingly spacious and warm given its seemingly odd situation. On the right side of the house, the mountain caved in, giving way for a lovely garden that was accessible from Dee's own bedroom window. Just below that garden, off to the side where the house was accessible, a woman in her 30s made her way down the stone steps with a woven basket filled with rolled oats. Her mother was short and a little thick, but that was because of her current pregnancy. They had prayed for a boy ever since they knew about it, but then again, they had also done the same with their other children. Their only success had been Léo, their first child, who had joined the army. The sudden lack of workforce at the farm had made daily life an endless struggle until finally Dee came of age and was able to help. Without her presence, they would certainly starve.

"Take the horses to shelter, Dee. I can see it will rain." With the freedom of childhood beginning to slip from her tanned grasp, Dee wasn't allowed to join Yulia in her playing. Doing as she was told, Dee walked through the farm with three horses following behind obediently.

Walking back, she thought about her family. Bessie, their maid-of-all-work, had probably finished dinner by now. Yulia was nearing her fourth summer this year; would she also have to help like Dee or could she live as she was born? Nearing the house, Dee stopped as she saw her parents talking. It seemed to be serious, but she couldn't really hear them. She was about to continue when she heard a bit of rustling. Was that from above her? Taking a few steps back, she looked up at her small private garden. There, crouching in the dark, was a familiar sight.

It was that young man from the market.


	3. A Fortnight

Dominique should've screamed, but instead she felt utterly paralyzed. That boy hadn't noticed her, and maybe that was for the best. He could've attacked her. Managing to look away, she carefully made her way back towards the main house. She could feel the hairs stand on the back of her neck and an awful realisation hit her. He must've noticed her by now. He was watching her. As soon as she got inside, the creaky door shutting carefully, Dominique let out a shaky breath. It was as if she had forgotten how to breathe. This was absolutely terrifying. She heard her parents speaking from their main hall, directly to her left, but their words seemed dulled down and slow. Maybe it could've been their whispers or the fact that the sound of her heart beating was just more distracting, but she didn't care about what they said or why they chose to hush themselves, as she had something much more important to say.

"Papa, there's a man."

Turning the corner, Dee's words were not heard. Instead, the sound of cheering and clapping filled the room and she saw something strange. Her favourite dinner-- Blanche Perrye-- stood on their oak table which had been decorated with yellow flower petals that lay on their finest linen cloth. Her mother's mousey blonde hair was decorated with flowers as well, and her father had one poking up from his chest pocket. She recognised those to be Fyavélies, as they were her favourite.

"There's our Dominique," Her mother spoke in a sweet tone, surprising Dominique very much. Why was she using her full name? She had been called Dee for as long as she could remember. And what was this for? She eyed her family with suspicion.

Maelynn was her mother's name. Blonde, greasy hair was pulled back to reveal her round, friendly face. Glinting grey eyes, set graciously within their sockets, watched daily over the household with a firm hold on their daily routines. Her father, Sylvestre, had white, sleek hair which hung framing a thin face wrinkled from years of worry. His dancing amber eyes greatly contrasted his look of stress, and his smile hardly ever fell away. Dominique had no memory of her father ever being angry but had many of her mother. She suffered from poor nerves and a sickly constitution. Maelynn hardly ever left their farm.

"Oh, take your cap off, darling," Her mother said in her usual nervous tone, grabbing the cap off of Dominique's head and also the pin then held her hair in place. Strawberry blonde locks tumbled down, framing a very sickly pale Dominique. None of her family seemed to notice the fear tinged in her expression.

"Aren't you hungry?" Her father spoke as he took his usual seat at the table. "You've worked hard, come and eat."

Dinner should have lightened the mood, but Dominique's mind was reeling with worry and awful scenarios of this man sneaking into the house to murder and plunder. Nevermind why their dinner was so fancy, it most likely wouldn't matter in the long run. Finally her mother stopped speaking for a little bit, so Dominique chewed her food with haste, knowing that she didn't have much time. She only managed to make a little peep before her mother cut her off. It seemed like she had no time at all.

"Darling, you know how much we have relied upon you lately," She began, glancing at her husband with a strange look. Sylvestre caught it and put down his drink, taking over.

"Oh yes, and of course we thank you for it," Something about his tone seemed off. Scratching his head, he looked back over at Maelynn. She nodded firmly, and then he spoke again. "But we think it's time that... uh..."

Unsure of what to say, Dominique spoke softly. "Has something happened?"

Cutting to the chase, her mother interjected. "You should know that a black carriage will arrive here before within a fortnight."

Her father nodded. "And you are to... leave with it."

"Leave? Go where? Have I done something wrong?"

"No, no, darling, you will be doing us the greatest honour in leaving with this carriage," Her mother quickly explained, reaching out her hand to touch her daughter's arm. She stroked it lovingly, but Dominique felt anything but comforted. "You've been chosen by the king."

Scoffing in disbelief, Dominique shook her mother off and furrowed her thick brows. This was so preposterous it almost made her angry. What was the meaning of this? What a ridiculous thought. The king was hundreds of miles away in Château de Colcourt, a castle built on top of the gracious Mont Solitaire. He was busy being king, what use could he ever have for choosing her? And how had she been chosen in the first place? It wasn't as if they had ever met.

"This isn't funny" Dominique barely managed a whisper.

"It isn't a joke," Her father replied seriously. "A courier came by some days ago." He pulled out a letter, holding it out for her to see. It was folded neatly, and despite the fact that the wax seal was broken she could see the form of the emblem very clearly. It was a crown wearing wolf. Something stirred inside her seeing it.

She eyed her father, as both of them knew very well that she couldn't read. He promptly opened it, reading out loud after a hefty sigh.

"His majesty the king, monarch of our motherland and fighter of our freedom, Jacques III of Lordskiq, greets and summons Dominique of the Claude family. His Majesty sends good thoughts towards health and wealth to her, and to her family he sends this as a reminder to her good mother and father of their promise made." Her father stopped for a moment, biting his own lip. It was as if he had not the heart to continue, but he did. "Dominique's health being that of greatest importance, if she is of sound mind and body, the deal will be kept in good faith by his majesty. A carriage of black shall be there within fourteen nights, as of the arrival of this letter. The pay will arrive similarly after Dominique's..." Sylvestre trailed off, putting the letter down. Nervously, he looked at his daughter.

"You... you sold me?" She breathed out, as white as a ghost. The sound of her own heartbeat seemed to grow louder and louder with every beat, and it radiated through her body like a poison spreading its wings. Despite her parent's protests and explanations, she couldn't hear them. Instead, she stood up, walked out, and left them.

Reaching her bedroom at the opposite end of the house, Dominique looked around with a blank stare. It was high up on a mossy stone which they had built around. Their roof was higher than it, though, making it into the perfect little room just for her. It had been her brother's room before his departure, now she thought about how it would be her sisters after she too departed. Léo had gone to the military, but little did Dominique know she would go to war.

Hearing her mother's call from down the hall, she felt suffocated and betrayed. Scoffing, Dominique looked towards her window which lead out into her private garden nestled on-top of the mossy stone, wanting to go out there, but she saw something that changed her mind. That man was still out there, except he didn't look threatening at all. He sat there, his back to her, eating a little patch of bread. This would've been the perfect time to call her father, only she could barely stomach the thought of facing him. And so, Dominique took a deep breath and opened the window, poking her head out.

"Hungry?"

The man noticeably hopped little, and it looked as though he was just a split second away from jumping down and running away, but he stopped as soon as their eyes met. Dominique looked quite noticeably different from the first time they met. Her hair was down, giving her such a natural feminine quality it was hard to believe that anyone could ever mistake her for a boy. The man still had a bit of bread in his mouth, which he chewed slowly as his eyes began to adjust to this new version of Dominique. She watched him curiously, furrowing her bushy brows and gesturing towards his bag.

"Is that yours? Hope you weren't thinking of stealing from us, monsieur, or I would report you to the Castus."

"The... the what?"

Letting out a short laugh in disbelief, Dominique was sure he was joking, but his face remained unchanged and she was inclined to believe him. "Surely you've heard of them?"

He shook his head. Sighing, Dominique climbed out into her garden and sat herself down, eyeing him suspiciously. He stared back at her, still in shock. "Let's start with you first, monsieur. What's your name?"

"O'Connell," He replied plainly, his eyes still wandering around her face.

"O'Connell? No wonder you're a foreigner, even your name is strange, monsieur O'Connell."

"Well I'm Francis, actually," He added in, "My dad is mister O'Connell. And you are... Dee?"

Nodding, Dominique looked over the courtyard. She heard horses neighing in the stables, but imagined that it came from the road just up ahead. How many horses would arrive to take her away? Who would be in that carriage? Would she travel alone?

"So you are a girl," Francis' words brought Dominique out of her thoughts, and she looked at him with a little smile as if to say 'of course'. He seemed surprised. "You're not afraid?"

"You should be more afraid than me, monsieur Francis," Dominique looked at him seriously, "One call to the Castus and you're worse off than a dead man."

"What in the blazes is a Castus, anyway?"

"Haven't you ever seen men wearing all black riding black horses?"

"Well of course, but that's common, ain't it?"

"Maybe where you're from, monsieur, but not in Lordskiq. They are the Castus, and they answer to one man and one man only-- our king, Jacques." The mention of the king send a cold shiver down her spine, but Dominique continued anyway. "They ride throughout our land looking for evil-doers and foreigners. Even those who get in their way or catch their fancy get cleansed."

"Cleansed...?" Francis seemed confused, and rightfully so.

"The Castus say they are purifying our land," Dominique explained with a thin frown, "They _cleanse_ it."

Francis looked over the land around them, his eyes were suddenly wide and bright. Dominique couldn't help but smile at his sudden discomposure, and she watched him curiously. His long, curly hair was held back in a little bun, revealing chiselled features she had never seen before. Then again, she hadn't met many men in her life, despite her masquerading as one of them. As she was about to speak once more, she heard her mother calling again, except this time she was just outside. As quick as a flash of lightning, Francis leapt down and was out of sight. Dominique hardly knew where to look as her mother walked out of the house, across their little courtyard, and stopped a few paces in front of her daughter. Despite Dominique being higher up than her, Maelynns stance announced great respect.

"Have you no respect for my poor nerves? Leaving us like that!"

"Respect?" Dominique felt utterly defeated, "You speak of respect after what you have done?"

"Darling... can't you see we had no choice? Can't you see you've been chosen by our monarch? Our almighty sovereign chose you. He remembered you. He wants you..."

Teary-eyed, Dominique looked at her mother and let out a shaky breath. This was all just too much. She knew nothing about life outside of the farm, and despite the fact that she had dreamed of escaping her fate for many years, the sudden realisation that she had no choice in the matter set her into a panic. Then, a realisation hit her and Dominique rubbed her nose, sniffing. "And what exactly does our monarch want from me?"

Surprised by her daughter's response, Maelynn hesitated before replying. "You will be a servant."

"What type of servant, mama?"

Her mother didn't respond. Again, Dominique spoke, raising her voice a bit higher. "What kind of servant?"

"Darling..."

"Mama, tell me. I beg of you."

Their eyes met and for a moment-- just a brief, fleeting moment-- Dominique wished this was all a cruel joke, that this was nothing but a strange dream she would forget about after waking up, but nothing changed. Her mother didn't jest around, and Dominique never woke up. She belonged to neither herself nor her family. Her time was limited; she had fourteen nights to herself before the rest of her life, body, and will belonged to the king. She had fourteen nights before becoming a night maiden. Fourteen nights of fleeting, innocent freedom.


	4. The Only One

"I bet he's forgotten by now," Francis threw an apple into the air, catching it nonchalantly. He scoffed bitterly before taking a bite out of the small treat. With his mouth full, the foreigner spoke again. "Bet he's as inbred as a horse."

"No need for insults," Dominique stayed sitting down, her eyes closed as the evening sun began its gradual decline. Her hair was pinned up, doubling the weight of her head. She had always wondered when she was young why her hair was never cut to help her masquerade as a boy, instead of being put in buns all the time, but now she knew better. Her parents had known for years.

She played with a little dandelion, one of the first of the spring. Twirling the stem between two fingers, Dominique noticed how clean they were. Her hands hadn't done any hard work for thirteen days. Instead of feeding the horses or help with the roof-tiling, she had been helping with needle-work and learning how to do her hair.

"You'll have to learn all the latest fashions," Her mother had said one day, pinning hair tightly into place. Dominique heard it more as a threat than advice, her suspicions heightening. Ever since the night of the revelation, things had never seemed to settle down. Dominique avoided her mother at all costs, fleeing to the safety and warmth of her father. Her father, however, was too busy working with his new apprentice, a boy by the name of Garrett.

After the letter had arrived, two days later the pay came with another courier. Her parents were quick to hire help, making Dominique's job at the farm seemingly obsolete. Women's work was no less demanding than a man's, but now she was not even allowed to mend boots or milk the sheep. Most days she sulked in the garden, not-so-peacefully tending to her needlework. The flower she had been instructed to make looked more like a colourful squiggle than anything else.

Staring down at the real thing in her hands, Dominique was far too distracted by her thoughts to notice when Francis sat down behind her until it was too late. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly so she lay on his chest. Over the thirteen nights he had spent on the Claude farm, eight of them had he passed in her bed. Angry and abandoned, the pair shared their troubles with each other, finding solace in each other's arms over those long, insufferably bright spring nights.

"Come with me," He murmured, his low voice rumbling in his chest. There was an authority in it which she hated- it sounded like her mother. Over the days spent with Francis, Dominique realised how much she disliked him. His hubris and conceit, his naivety and wild ways sent her on edge. At night she needed the diversion, a way to let out her feelings and gain back control. In a way, sex was revenge.

"And go where?" Dominique replied, feeling uncomfortable in his arms. It felt like a strain to breathe, so she pushed out of his grasp, standing up with some struggle. The long dress she was being forced to wear annoyed her, and she kicked a bit of the fabric out of her way. Francis watched in amusement.

"We could go to Othos. I've got a cousin there, and you'd like the seaside," Francis explained, not knowing how Dominique despised the thought of the ocean and- even worse- the prospect of spending the rest of her life as an outlaw. That might've been a life good enough for the O'Connel's, but the Claude's were different.

Hands on her hips, the young girl held back the tongue-lashing she so wanted to give to her lover. Instead, she calmed herself by turning away, her eyes settling on the sight of their horses grazing nearby. She saw Cheese, her white spotted mare with a blonde pelt, and a smile slowly grew as she remembered what it was like to ride. Of course, Cheese was now too old and had always been too stubborn for being properly trained. This meant she had been no profit for the family, as she hadn't even borne any fouls, but despite this Dominique loved her. The whole family knew that and had, therefore, kept her.

Ignoring Francis' probing and prying, Dominique made her way over to the herd. They, of course, knew her and did not stray away. Another horse, who was sister to Coal-- the horse which Francis' father had bought to abandon his son with-- came over to her, happily accepting her touch. It was only when Francis stumbled his way over when the herd began to disband, sneaking further back in order to avoid this foreigner. Dominique had once gone out riding with Francis, only to learn that he thought it wrong for women to ride. That was the first time she had wanted to be rid of him. Now, standing alone, and a bit frustrated with the situation, Dominique snapped around, facing him head-on.

"Why don't you go to Othos?"

He seemed a bit taken back, but didn't hesitate to answer. "Alone?"

"Yes, alone," She blinked innocently, "Isn't that what you need to be when you're an outlaw?"

"But..." He stammered, scoffing in disbelief. "So you're not coming with me?"

"I don't want to go," Dominique replied, heaving a hefty sigh. "Not from here and certainly not out of Lordskiq. If these are my last hours of freedom before being hauled off to Château de Colcourt then I'm not going to spend them fighting the inevitable."

"You're not even going to try?"

"If I only could I would make a deal with the gods and swap places with any other young girl out there, but that's not going to happen. And besides," She shrugged, "Maybe the king will be nice to me."

Francis laughed at that. Both of them knew the chance would be a fine thing, but a very unlikely one. Despite knowing this, Dominique stared down the hill, observing her home at the bottom, knowing very well that it was for the last time in a long while she would see it in this state. She let out another sigh. It seemed she was made for that- sighing and shrugging. She wondered what kind of life awaited her on top of Mont Solitaire. Were there friends to be made? Enemies to be fought? How different was life about to become?

"He did choose me, you know," Replied she to his laughter, keeping her head held high.

"And what? You think you're the only one?"

Dominique slept alone that night. Francis had tapped on her window, just as he was used to doing, but she pretended to sleep. It took her a while to settle down and actually drift off, but she managed. After a dreamless night, she woke to her mother's rapid knocking. Within ten minutes she was being dressed, cinched into a corset, and her hair pinned up. The dress was made of the finest fabric she had ever laid her eyes upon, and when she had finally regathered her thoughts enough to realize what must be going on, Dominique spoke softly.

"It's here, isn't it? The carriage?"

Her mother responded only with a small smile that was supposed to be reassuring, yet all it succeeded in doing was confirming Dominique's suspicion. Fourteen days of freedom had gone and went, just like that, and she was now being taken away. Surely the most common reaction was to be scared, frightened of the awful possibility of what life was about to become, but Dominique felt eerily calm as if she was about to meet her executioner.

She was ushered out quickly, rushed to the front of the house and into the courtyard where the whole family had already gathered. Her father wore his Sunday best, and little Yulia had been freshly bathed, her hair still wet. She amused herself with some pebbles on the ground, completely unaware of the situation.

There was another man, a frightfully tall and dark-clothed one, which had his back turned towards her. Dominique watched him as her mother rapidly whispered instructions into her ear, although they felt more like threats. Her eyes fell on the strangers left hand- which he kept held behind his back sternly- which was as white as the new moon. The contrast of his skin to his attire was startling, just as the moon contrasted the night sky, and his shaggy, long dark hair tumbled down the man's back half-hazardously.

Her father's gaze being distracted brought the man's attention towards her, as the men had been deep in conversation, and Dominique held her breath as she waited to see his face. Was this him? Had the king come and gotten her himself? Such a strong, regal figure could only belong to one man.

"Mademoiselle," He bowed low, startling her. Why on earth did he bow? Once he was up again, revealing his face, she knew it could not be the king. It was a man whose cheeks were sharp, his brows sleek, and goatee was as wild as his hair. Unkempt he may have been, but the authority he had made it all the more effective. Tired eyes, paper skin, and a rough almost sickly voice completed his character. "I am Jean, your chaperone."

Doing as she had been taught, Dominique curtsied. She had almost bowed out of pure habit, haven pretended to be a boy for years now, but caught herself just in time. She half-expected the man to notice her near-slip-up, but all he did was turn to her mother, nod his head curtly, and begin walking towards the carriage. It stood nearby, drawn by a pair of pitch-black horses which waited patiently. Their bridles, dark as night, masqueraded into their heads. If Dominique didn't know any better, she would've thought they had no headstalls at all. There was no driver.

Ushered by her mother, Dominique followed him to the carriage. The closer she came, the more her fear began to creep up. She had by now accepted the situation, yet the mystery of it all was started to become too much. Ornate patterns had been itched into the wooden door, the obsidian-colour of the whole carriage making the details feel like a secret she now was in on. Suddenly the door opened, and she turned her head. Jean stared down at her.

"Get in," His brows raised, as if it was supposed to be a question but he didn't bother needing an answer. 

Dominique obliged, picking up her skirts before rising onto the step. She didn't dare take his hand, even when he offered it, and instead pretended he had none at all. Would he think her rude or self-assured? Either way, she didn't care. Dressed as a boy she never got any help with anything, so why should a dress change matters? Unfortunately, the fabric did affect things. Unable to really see where her foot landed, it slipped as she was rising up.

Her heart dropped, her lungs drew in a hasty breath, and a shiver went down her spine as her waist was grabbed by two warm hands, guiding her down carefully. As soon as her legs touched ground again, hearing the crunch of the earth, Dominique regained her senses. She had grabbed his hands, her own fingers clutched around his wrists, and her senses quivered as she felt the man's breath on her ear.

"I've got you," She felt the rumbling of his chest as he spoke, the words both reassuring and utterly frightening. Dominique pushed herself away, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment and irritation, before catching Jean's gaze. He seemed unaffected by her slip.

Curtly, she nodded in thanks, unable to find the actual words. Climbing up into the carriage successfully, she quickly sat down before looking out at her family. She had imagined this moment for a fortnight now- her father's sad smile as he watches her go, her mother's heartfelt apology, and seeing her sister wave goodbye half-hazardously. Instead, she met none of their eyes. Her mother was instructing Yulia to stop getting her dress dirty, and her father was speaking to Garrett, who stood by the nearby stable. 

Disappointment shrouded all other feelings she may have otherwise felt, and she leaned back in her seat, the velvet cushion comfortably greeting her. Despite the luxurious seat she settled into, it did not help with the overwhelming feeling of sickness as she began to scold herself. Foolish child, she thought, feeling her chest tighten with what must've been resentment. The night before, laying in her bed, she had prayed to the gods, fervently and earnestly, for her new life to be a painless one. It seems none of them listened- they never did.

With no one to drive the carriage other than her mysterious chaperone, her eyes widened in surprise as Jean stepped in, seating himself across from her. The door closed on its own. Without another chance to look out at her family, to even say goodbye, the horses began to move, straining her back in her seat. Had there been another man whom she had not noticed? A man who had also closed the door? There was no other explanation. In some twisted way, she was relieved that she had not been able to see her family's faces again. Serves them right, she decided, for letting her be bought.

"So," Dominique piped up, determined for some answers. In her mind she had an endless list of inquiries. Jean's eyes, slanted and tired, flickered up from his lap, patiently waiting for her to continue. Something about him got to Dominique, something that made her uneasy but she wasn't sure why. He seemed pale and bloodless, tired of a life he seemed already to have lived for too long. She continued after a short pause, "How long will it take? To Mont Solitaire, I mean."

"Three days," He replied curtly. It was a bit surprising to know that the palace was so close by and not half-way around the kingdom. Although she supposed that it made some sense- otherwise how had the king chosen her if she didn't live nearby him? Had lived nearby him. Now that had all changed, and she'd live with him. Anger began to rise in her again, and something must've changed in her expression because Jean continued observing her, scrutanizing her, with a lazy expression as if she was the most terrible bore in the world. She turned her head away, pretending to observe the scenery, hoping their stare-off would end. It didn't.

Feeling his eyes on her, Dominique finally understood why he was there with her. It was to seek out her character, to see if she was fit for the king. And if she didn't succeed in making Jean pleased enough to let her see the king, then what would he do with her? Kick her out of the moving carriage? Leave her somewhere remote with nothing but a silly dress and a cold look? Worst of all, was his cold skin and sick voice a sign of something even worse? A pit formed in her stomach as Dominique remembered the tales from her childhood, awful stories of fantastical beasts and venomous blood-drinkers.

She remembered his cold breath on her neck, his icy wrists she had grabbed hold of, and how effortlessly he had set her down, as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. Dominique knew very well that she weighed more than that- far, far more. No man, not even her father who was the stronger man she had ever known, had been able to lift her like that. Jaw clenched, mind racing, Dominique met her gaze once more, ready to see if the tale was true. His eyes were blue.


End file.
